


It's not okay, until it is

by ajminiyard



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neil is fine, kind of, like andrew, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajminiyard/pseuds/ajminiyard
Summary: Neil is always fine... Until he's notAndrew is always there to ground him.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73





	It's not okay, until it is

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my first fic! I may write more in the future if this gets any sort of positive response but, enjoy!

Neil is fine. Despite being put through so many kinds of hell. Violent, horrifying, brutal things that would bring even the strongest to their knees, and cut down the weak without a second thought.

So many different kinds of scars slashing and scoring him. Painting him a savage scene of an unforgiving past. Scattered across his skin, some from so long ago most would assume he forgot where they all came from. He remembered them all, in an intense clarity, only brought into sharper focus by an alarming sort of agony, one that stays with you forever.

The almost elegant ones from his last trip to Baltimore. Lola had called herself an artist. Neil supposed one could call it that.

Those scars wrapped his torso, twining their way across his shoulders, down his arms, in a way that could almost be called beautiful. Rivaled by the more savage ones doled out by The Butcher himself. The merciless, heavy scars that draped over his hands and lined his sides.

The mess they'd made of his face. Twisted burns from the dashboard lighter, circular and ruined, marring his cheekbone. Violently removing the tattoo he'd been forcibly branded with by Riko at the hands of The Ravens last winter, the one thing he may consider being grateful for.

His other cheek ravaged by delicate lines, crisscrossing, meeting and intersecting. The product of a deadly dance with the tip of a razor sharp blade.

It was almost poetic, in a way, as the son of The Butcher of Baltimore, that he would be marked so permanently by knives, an unfading signature, and a reminder. One which he was somehow able to survive.

Some days, however, the memories and demons he carried clung to him like shadows, sinking their claws in, looming, whispering vicious secrets in his ear, until all he could hear was the deafening sound of his own blood thundering in his head, the urge to run creeping into his limbs, his gaze unfocused, almost lost.

" _Neil. _"__

__It only took the firm sound of his name in that steady monotonous voice to bring him back from the edge._ _

__One look, a single meeting of those blazing hazel eyes with his own, the look of understanding. It was nothing gentle, not that he would even know what to do with that, never softened by pity. Rather something sharp and fierce, which pulled him back, grounded him enough to register the concerned tone in Nicky's voice. It was obvious he'd been trying to draw his attention back for sometime._ _

__Seeing his eyes come back into focus, Nicky tried again, "Neil, man, are you okay?"_ _

__"I'm fine," passed his lips, his eyes finally sliding away from Andrew's._ _

__"But-"_ _

__"I'm fine," he said again, firmer than before, quirking his lips up into a small reassuring smile. The rest of his face remained carefully blank, his pulse once again beginning to settle._ _

__He watched the worry slowly drain from Nicky's expression, resuming his babbling about the plans he and Erik had for the upcoming holiday break, his eyes still cautiously flickering to Neil as he continued preparing dinner, searching for some hint that something else was wrong. He found nothing._ _

__A subtle shift in the corner of his eye was the only indication that Andrew had grown bored with the situation once more, turning back to the open window to finish his cigarette at his perch on the sill. Cold apathy painting his features as smoke curled from his parted lips, whisked away by the frigid December air._ _

__Neil was fine. He was always fine._ _


End file.
